Up and down the procession sweeps. Up one side the wide "_Cours_" and down the other; the space within filled with the merry surging crowd, under the feet of the horses it would seem. But no matter. Horses and men and women and children bear a charmed life to-day. Now and then a policeman pounces on the boys, who are gathering up the heaps of _confetti_ from the dirt to sell again; but this is the only suggestion of law and order behind the gay confusion. Here rolls a carriage trimmed with red and white. Within are a pair of scarlet dominoes, who peer mysteriously at you. But look again at what moves on. A car longer than any yet seen. It is a grotto. Within its cool recesses bask immense lizards. Some slowly climb its sides, then, in search of prey, thrust out their long tongues. In shining coat, in color, in movement, you would avow them to be lizards, truly. But how huge! Behind the lizards pass again the mounted grasshoppers, our favorites of all, for their wonderfully perfect form and dainty beauty. And lo! they bear, to our delight, a silken banner, token of the prize. For, pets, do you read between the lines and understand that this wonderful procession was the result of truly artistic skill?--that to imitate perfectly to the eye, to represent exactly in motion all these living creatures, and yet conceal within a boy or man who invisibly moved them, required all the delicacy of perception and nicety of workmanship of French eyes and fingers? Think you that your little fingers and bright eyes will ever attain so much. Besides, all this was also a great outlay of thousands of francs. For Nice aroused herself to excel in Carnival, and offered large prizes--one of five thousand francs, another of four, another of three--for the most perfect representations. Nowhere in Italy was there anything to compare with Nice. And I doubt if you would see again in Carnival what would so perfectly delight your young eyes, or so quicken your perception of artistic skill. We look at our watches. Two hours yet; but we long to taste the fun on foot. So we fling our last _confetti_, fill hair and button-holes and hands with our sweet nosegays of geranium, sweet alyssum, mignonette and pansies--mementoes of the fight,--then descend to the sidewalk to press our way along the crowded court. More and more to see! and, last of all, Carnival tossed and tumbled in effigy until his death by drowning or burning. But we must be early at the station. Early, indeed! Peppered and pelted all the way, tweaked and shot at; but ever and always with _only_ the harmless _confetti_ and soft nosegays. Sure that we are the first to leave, sure that no others are there before us, we pass into the outer baggage-room. Fifty more are there pressed hard against the closed door.